


Prompt - Quarrel, waltz.

by Munnin



Series: The Star Wars Write Stuff challenge. [40]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Master & Padawan Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 14:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12300714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: The early days of Obi-Wan's training, he struggles with the sabre so Qui-Gon finds him an alternative instructor.





	Prompt - Quarrel, waltz.

Qui-Gon didn’t need to reach out to the Force to know where his padawan was. Obi-Wan was where he had been every evening for the last two weeks.

In the training hall. Working on his sabre forms. 

He could tell the boy was worried, fretting. But he didn’t want to push. Obi-Wan would tell him when he was ready.

But tonight, he knew it had gone far enough.

He stood in to doorway, watching Obi-Wan drill with the practice sabre. The boy- no, the young man, for a young man he was; hovering on the cusp of adolescence. His rounded cheeks pocked with acne and a first few stray hairs showed on his upper lip. 

Obi-wan was shaking, he’d worked himself so hard, stripped down to sleeveless under-tunic and pants. Qui-Gon watched his young apprentice move barefoot over the mats, skin slick with sweat. Two extra training remotes sat on the bench to one side, their power level indicators blinking red.

“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon called, clearing his throat to be heard over the padawan’s ragged breathing. “Obi-Wan. Enough!”

The words sunk in and Obi-Wan lowered his sabre. “Master?” He flinched and cried out as the remote’s bolt struck his upper arm, dropping to one knee. 

Qui-Gon deactivated it with a flick of his hand, crossing the hall in long strides. He knelt at Obi-Wan’s side, cupping his shoulder to examine the burn. “You deactivated the safeties. Why?”

The boy hung his head in shame, sweat dripping down his braid. “Forgive me, Master.”

Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek, encouraging the boy to meet his eyes. “I’m not angry, Obi-Wan. I simply want to know why.”

Obi-Wan pulled away, crossing to the bench to grab his towel, wiping away tears of frustration he hoped his master had mistaken for sweat. He took a few deep breaths, trying to centre himself, just as Qui-Gon had taught him. “I wanted to make it… more real.”

Qui-Gon followed him, sitting down at the bench. “You hoped to better your form by increasing the stakes.” He only now noticed the burns to Obi-Wan’s robes, marking his calf and ribs.

“I’m falling behind, Master.” It almost came out as a sob. “No matter how hard I train, I’m falling behind the others.”

Qui-Gon reached out and very gently folded the boy into his arms. Attachment was forbidden. Possession was forbidden. But Qui-Gon felt a level of protectiveness and love for his young apprentice, for the only child he would ever have, that most likely exceeded what the council considered proper. 

He drew Obi-Wan back and looked him in the eye. “Master Yoda mentioned you were struggling.”

Obi-Wan stiffened, flushed and tense. “You knew?” The young man was all but quivering again, his back sabre straight and hands clenched; ready for a fight. “You never said anything!” 

How long had Obi-Wan been braced for this quarrel? Believing Qui-Gon would be angry with him. Believing he would have to defend himself. 

Qui-Gon shook his head and brushed a hand over the boy’s short cropped hair. “I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for you to be ready to tell me.”

All the fight seemed to go out of Obi-Wan, the boy’s knees sagging. “I’m sorry, Master. I should have told you earlier.”

Qui-Gon supported him, steering Obi-Wan to the bench. “I won’t have disturbed you this evening,” Qui-Gon smiled indigently, “except for the fact you missed supper.” 

That got a laugh from the boy. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“Good thing I know you as well as I do.” Qui-Gon drew a package of sandwiches from an inner pocket of his robe, almost laughing as Obi-wan fell on them like a starving Lothal wolf pup.

Qui-Gon waited till the boy’s hunger was sated before speaking again. “Obi-Wan, there’s no shame in acknowledging one’s strengths and weakness. We cannot grow otherwise. And there is no shame in asking for help when we need it.”

He studied the young man’s face, searching Obi-Wan’s speckled blue eyes for understanding before going on. 

“The sabre style Master Yoda teaches is a beginner’s form, designed to provide solid fundamentals. But it is not the only form there is. Not by a long-shot.” He brushed crumbs from Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “I believe it’s time you learnt some alternative techniques.”

“Master, I-” Obi-Wan cut himself off, ducking his head. “I’ll do better. I promise.”  
“I know you will, my boy. I know you will.” Qui-Gon pulled the boy into his arms around, radiating reassurance. “Now, let’s find a sabre form that suits you.”

***

Obi-Wan tried to school his expression as he was introduced to Jedi Master Rachi Sitra. She was easily half his height again and carried herself with all the grace and fluidity the Twi'lek were famed for.

However most of the Twi’leks he’d met had been his peers; girls and boys he had grown up with. Not tall and powerful the way Master Rachi was. Not so… impressive. 

The Jedi archaeologist greeted Qui-Gon as an old friend, clasping wrists before pulling him in for a hug. “Whatever have you brought me, Qui-Gon?”

“My padawan.” Qui-Gon beamed proudly, resting a hand on the nervous youth’s shoulder. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s in need of a new sabre tutor.”

“Master.” Obi-Wan bowed his head to her, trying to keep the blush from creeping up his cheeks. “Thank you for taking the time.”

She curled long purple fingers around Obi-Wan’s chin, eyes sparkling. “A pleasure, little one. Now, shall we begin?”

He swallowed and nodded, reaching for his practice sabre.

“Oh no,” She smiled again, showing slightly pointed teeth. “Not that. Not yet. First, I teach you how to dance.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to make of it at first. But he respected Master Rachi. And more than that, he respected Qui-Gon’s judgement. So, he obeyed. 

Under her tutorage he leaned how to dance. Everything from traditional court dances to more exotic Twi'lek styles. The latter, Obi-Wan struggled with somewhat. Partly because he lacked Rachi’s grace and flexibility. But mostly because he was a pubescent human boy training in close quarters with a strikingly beautiful Twi'lek woman. 

All of which led to several sleepless nights in which Obi-Wan practised his meditation as much as his dancing. 

It was months before Rachi put a sabre in his hand again. “You’re ready, little one. Now we dance with light. We dance with the Force.”

Little by little, Obi-Wan began to recognise sabre forms Qui-Gon used as she turned the dances she had taught him into strikes and blocks, attack and defect. Lead and follow.   
More so when Qui-Gon began to join them for their lessons. The three of them moving in perfect tandem. It felt right, balanced. The Force flowing between them and through them. 

She encouraged them to dance with her together, teaching them to respond and react to each other as much as to her. Till Obi-Wan realised he could sense his master’s strikes and blocks, moving with him in unison and harmony. And that he trusted that Qui-Gon would move with him when he needed to lead

For the first time since beginning his training with Master Yoda, Obi-Wan felt at peace with the sabre. 

***  
Years later, Obi-Wan found himself thanking Master Rachi again. As he waltzed Duchess Satine Kryze across the ballroom floor, holding her close. Their cover as Separatist socialites required them to look the part and Obi-Wan had never worn a suit so tight. Nor held Satine so close in a dress so fine and sheer. 

He was very grateful to her, not just for teaching him how to waltz, but also for teaching him how to hide his reactions around beautiful women. Lest he blow their cover. And lest he give away what was in his heart.


End file.
